


Impulsivity

by WellSchitt



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, Discussion of Infidelity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tiny bit of Angst, takes place about a week after the proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 00:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellSchitt/pseuds/WellSchitt
Summary: Patrick, 8:55 a.m.: Call me asapPatrick, 8:57 a.m.: David, answer the phone. It’s important.Patrick, 9:31 a.m.: I really fucked up. We need to talk.Patrick, 9:33 a.m.: Shit, the session is starting and I’m already running late. I’ll call around noon at the next break, maybe plan on closing the store for lunch around then?David’s eyes bored into the screen, attempting to force more information to appear. He’d missed the messages when they first came in, too busy dealing with an unexpected Saturday morning crowd by himself to check his phone.The texts were accompanied by four missed calls, but no voicemails.





	Impulsivity

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another utterly random scenario that popped into my mind when I should have been working on a WIP <3

**Patrick, 8:55 a.m.: **Call me asap  
**Patrick, 8:57 a.m.: **David, answer the phone. It’s important.  
**Patrick, 9:31 a.m.:** I really fucked up. We need to talk.  
**Patrick, 9:33 a.m.:** Shit, the session is starting and I’m already running late. I’ll call around noon at the next break, maybe plan on closing the store for lunch around then?

David’s eyes bored into the screen, attempting to force more information to appear. He’d missed the messages when they first came in, too busy dealing with an unexpected Saturday morning crowd by himself to check his phone.

The texts were accompanied by four missed calls, but no voicemails.

Setting the phone down by the register, he spun on his heel and walked away, breathing deeply and rolling his hands in calming circles—then shook his head, jogged back across the room, and picked up the phone again.

The facts were these:

1\. Patrick was at a hotel in Elm Valley. He’d been there since Thursday, attending a local business convention during the day and wining and dining potential clients at night.

2\. Two hours ago, Patrick had called and texted him to say that he had fucked up.

3\. Whatever he’d done, it was bad enough that he hadn’t wanted to explain via text or voicemail.

4\. Patrick rarely cursed.

5\. Patrick had suggested _closing the store_, on their busiest day, for this conversation.

Sweating in his Prada sweater, David read the texts again. It was hard to focus past the first stirrings of panic, but he already knew that this wasn’t some kind of game. Patrick wasn’t teasing him. If he was, there would be more context—and besides, Patrick preferred to tease him in person. Watching David squirm was half the fun of it for him.

Feeling numb, he sat on a stool in the tiny room behind the register. He stayed there for some unknown amount of time—maybe five minutes, maybe forty-five—staring at his empty hands, occasionally rearranging his engagement rings without realizing he was doing it.

—

All the signs were there.

For one thing, Patrick had sounded a little tipsy when they’d spoken last night after dinner, and that was _before _he went for drinks with a couple of potential vendors.

And of course there was the fact that they’d just gotten engaged, and Patrick didn’t actually deal with commitment any better than David did, whatever he might claim to the contrary. Exhibit A: his first engagement had ended after two weeks with him quitting his job, breaking his lease, and moving across the country to date a different gender.

Then there was the simple fact that he and David hadn’t had much sex since they got engaged. (_That’s only rule number fucking one of getting people to stick around, _David’s mind spat at him.) First Patrick had been tired from the play (_you could have blown him, though_), then David had had a cold (_still could have let him fuck you_). Then David had been upset because a ditzy real estate agent had won on The Bachelor instead of Heather, his favorite, a gorgeous and intelligent graphic designer. (_You are intolerable, what grown man gets that upset about a reality show, no wonder Patrick-_) He’d only really recovered from that emotional setback on Sunday, and from then on they were putting in late nights to prepare for this convention.

On top of everything else, they’d fought the night before Patrick left. Or, to be more precise, David had nagged while Patrick sniped back at him about being controlling, which… well. It was just that _he_ usually handled vendors and clients, but because this convention also offered seminars about things like small business tax incentives and changes to municipal licensing procedures, Patrick was going instead. David knew it was the right move for him to take a backseat this time. Unfortunately it turned out he was a massive backseat driver, and he’d driven Patrick’s patience right off a cliff with his last-minute coaching and nitpicking.

So again… all the signs were there.

—

For however long David sat on the stool, he considered it, the idea of Patrick getting drunk and sleeping with someone else. In any of his past relationships, he’d have been convinced already; he’d have considered it naive to even hope for another explanation. Part of him still felt like he ought to prepare himself—like maybe he should pack a bag, plan an angry speech, and set fire to a pile of blue button downs, just in case.

But no matter how hard he thought about it, no matter how obvious it all should have seemed, David simply didn’t believe that Patrick would cheat on him. He reread the texts, but they didn’t change his mind.

He was still nervous—Patrick had fucked _something_ up, after all—but Patrick wouldn’t cheat on him. The truth of it settled into his mind like an anchor. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the store and got back to work.

—

Fifteen minutes later, the phone finally rang.

“Store’s closed, I’m ready, so just… tell me. Rip the bandaid off,” David said without preamble when he answered, flipping the sign on the door to Closed.

He heard Patrick blow out a long breath. “Um. Alright. Well, first of all, I already know that I should have talked to you first, and I’m really, _really_ sorry, David. In the moment it felt too good to pass up, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I can see that I massively overstepped, and- and I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t even know if it will fit with your mood board at _all_, it was- it was impulsive. It was impulsive, and I’m sorry, and just… please don’t kill me.”

“Patrick. _Tell_ me.” David dug his nails into his palm and tried not to think about failing businesses, sudden bankruptcies, or asset seizures.

“Ok… ok. This morning, I, uh. The conference didn’t start until 9:30, so I took the morning to check out a venue. And I, um. I ended up booking it. With a nonrefundable deposit.”

“A venue.” David wanted to laugh at the swell of relief washing through him—until he realized exactly what Patrick was saying. “Wait, you booked a venue? You _booked _a_ venue. _You booked a venue for our _wedding_, without _talking to me about it first?_” The last words came out a half-scream. “We have been engaged for a week and a half, I haven’t even _finalized_ a mood board, we _just_ agreed on a budget, and you _booked the venue without me?!_”

“David, David, I know! I know, and I’m sorry, and if it’s not what you want then we’ll forfeit the deposit-”

“How much was the deposit?”

“It was, um. It was half. Half the overall cost of the venue.”

“_Patrick_.” He might set fire to those shirts after all.

“$3,000,” Patrick said quietly, before jumping into damage control mode. “I’m so sorry. I just went to look around, and they told me it was booked solid for _three years._ So I was about to leave, but then they had someone call in a cancellation literally while I was standing in the office. And there was this other couple there taking a tour, and I could tell they were thinking about it, too, they kept whispering, and I- I panicked, ok? I thought you’d like it, and then suddenly there was a vacancy, and apparently that _never_ happens, so I just- I did it, I wrote the check.”

“Well you picked a hell of a moment to suddenly discover impulse buying,” David didn't bother to hide the outrage in his voice. $6,000 was not in their venue budget, not by a long shot, but they also couldn’t afford to forfeit a $3,000 deposit and Patrick knew it. “And exactly where is this money pit where we’ll be celebrating the single most important day of our lives?”

“The botanical garden in Elm Valley.”

David went very still.

“May 7th,” Patrick added, sounding hopeful now. “Of next year.”

“Patrick.” David grabbed the counter, trying to steady his ride on this emotional rollercoaster. “Patrick, that’s-”

“Cherry blossom season, yeah. Now do you see why I panicked? I know you used to fly to Japan every year to see them, so I wanted to check out their prices for renting that part of the garden. But apparently those weekends book up years in advance. So when they said they had a cancellation, I-”

“You. You are _perfect_. You are a perfect man,” David said vehemently as he sank to the floor against the counter.

Patrick laughed shakily. “Oh my God, are you happy? Really? Are you sure? I _thought_ you’d like it, but you didn’t answer the phone and I had to decide, right then, so I just- I took my life in my hands and went for it. But Jesus, David, I’ve been torturing myself-”

“I mean, _never_ do anything like this again. Like, _ever_. But it’s… it’s perfect. And yes, it’s over our budget, but I’ll be able to, like, majorly slash the decorating expenses. We'll only have to worry about the tables, and... maybe a chuppah? And God, Patrick, we can wear white suits with soft pink accents, or maybe floral print tuxes-”

“David, love, we can debate floral tuxes later.” David heard the giddy relief behind Patrick’s teasing. “You should, uh, you should open the store back up. And I’ve got to grab lunch and get back in time for the general merchandise insurance Q&A.”

“Yes. Yes, I should. We have to pay for a $6,000 venue by May 7th of next year, after all.” Grinning, David stood back up and dusted himself off.

“That’s right, we do. And I am so pleased you're not going to murder me over that."

"Mm, I cannot emphasize this enough: you got _very_ lucky."

"I hear you. We make all wedding decisions together from now on. And hey, I’m sorry if I upset you earlier, with those texts. I should have left a message--I hope I didn't cause an anxiety spiral or anything.”

“You know, I was actually fine," David said absently, head still full of cherry blossoms as he flipped sign on the front door back to Open. "For some reason, I wasn’t that worried.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, I just liked the idea of the cherry blossoms and Patrick having to make a giant wedding decision on his own. OH and also the idea that David has, without even realizing it, slowly stopped expecting terrible things from people because he's gotten used to being loved and treated well.
> 
> Also, this is probably a pricier wedding than they could actually afford? Maybe they'll skimp on food or only invite a small, select group of VIPs.


End file.
